


Hands

by cris7iano



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Declarations Of Love, F/M, M/M, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:30:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2411699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cris7iano/pseuds/cris7iano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically, Xabi's obsessed with Bastian's hands and he has a wandering mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Then and Now

2010

 

It’s love (or lust) at first sight when Xabi sees Bastian in South Africa in 2010. He doesn’t normally believe in things like this, thinks they’re for children or gullible teenagers, but the way Bastian grips his hand when they shake hands for the first time before Germany verses Spain and the way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles makes Xabi believe that maybe, just maybe, it’s real.

It’s a tough game from the start and for the first time in the competition, La Roja question whether they’ll actually lift the trophy at the beginning of July. Nobody says it aloud but it’s written on the faces of all the players at halftime. Del Bosque and Xabi, who are usually the strategists and always have something to say, are silent and confused. It’s through no fault of their own that they haven’t scored yet. The Germans have been on par with them since the whistle blew and they’re not giving up. Die Mannschaft refuse to lay down and die (the irony isn't lost with half the Spanish team).

Iker tries to inspire his men, claps each of them on the shoulder as they enter the change room and tells them how important this game is for them, for Spain.

"We’re not going through what we went through in Germany four years ago. We can’t lose. Do you understand? We cannot lose. Not to them or anyone else. We have to win."

They do, thanks to a late goal by Puyol in the 72nd minute. Podolski and Klose have a few shots in the 87th minute but they're in vain. Puyol's goal is the final nail in the coffin and Germany are out the World Cup.

When the match is over, Xabi embraces his teammates and he almost screams with joy. He shakes hands with all the closest Germany players and makes his way to the exit.

A hand clasps him on the shoulder as he’s walking down the tunnel. A wide-eyed Bastian Schweinsteiger is looking at him with a mixture of the most crestfallen and relieved face he’s ever seen and he suddenly feels guilty. Someone had to win, Xabi reminds himself, someone had to win and it could’ve easily been him on the losing side.

"Sorry," he breathes out, unsure of what he’s actually apologising for.

"Don’t be," Bastian answers, voice heavily accented and wavering, "Can I have your shirt?"

Xabi nods and silently takes off his shirt before handing it to the other man. Bastian extends his hand but the other man rejects it and envelops him in a hug and Bastian rubs Xabi’s back as if he’s the one that needs consoling. Those hands, Xabi thinks to himself. Firm, strong and different. They’re nothing like Nagore’s which are small, delicate and familiar. Bastian himself is nothing like Xabi’s wife, he wouldn’t have to worry about being rough with him, about breaking him. Bastian wishes him luck in the competition before they part ways and Xabi dumbly wishes it back.

The team goes back to their hotel in Johannesburg. Xabi’s rooming with Arbeloa but Nagore’s staying down the hall so he ducks out to see her. That night, when he’s pushing into her and her hands are on his back, he pretends they’re the strong, firm hands from earlier. He comes so hard he sees stars.

The World Cup continues, Spain progress and eventually win. Xabi thinks about those hands sometimes, mostly when he’s awake late at night needing to get off or when Nagore has her hands on him. It’s strange, really strange, but the thought of those hands both excite and relax him. He speaks to Bastian a few times on Twitter about everything but football and he realises he might be wading the waters now. Xabi, like with everything else, doesn’t want to get in too deep so he decides to forget about Bastian and his hands.

 

/

 

2014.

 

Xabi’s transfer to Bayern Munich five days before the transfer window closes comes as a shock to everyone. Some madridistas think the headlines must be fake because he had just extended his contract not too long ago, had just declared his love for the shirt and for Madrid after winning la decima no less than five months ago. When pictures of Xabi arriving in Munich hit the Internet, it suddenly becomes real and many begin to question how the man they knew could unceremoniously abandon them like this. The Madrid fans are split. Half of them wish him well, try and understand his reasons for leaving and celebrate him as a hero, a leader, and rightly or wrongly, a legend. The other half are not as forgiving. They curse his name and wish they’d never trusted him, wish he’d never carried the crest on his shirt at all.

A handful of players text him, wishing him well and thanking him for all he’s done for the shirt. He writes ‘Thank you Real Madrid for everything. I will cherish my time with you forever. Always yours, Xabi’ on Twitter. He doesn’t believe it though, well, he doesn’t believe the last part anyway. He has too much of Liverpool in his heart that he wonders if he was ever Real’s to begin with.

"A snake" is what they call him online and Xabi thinks they might not be too far off the mark.

Like a snake, he needs to shed his skin, remove his jersey, and don a new one every couple of years. He’s a creature of migration, a wanderer. He can’t stay in one place too long because he doesn’t want to feel like he’s missing something better elsewhere.

 

/

 

The deal is done in less than a day and he’s presented at the Allianz the next day. He holds his new jersey as far away as he can without seeming impolite because he doesn’t know it yet. It’s strange and foreign to him in a way that the Madrid jersey never was when he first held it.

He bumps into Lahm, Boateng and Robben on the way to the car and as they’re on their way to training.

"We’re glad to have you with us, Xabi, we really are. If there’s anything you need —"

"Anything at all," Boateng interjects.

"Just let me, us, know," the tiny captain finishes.

Xabi manages a thank you and before he knows it, the three men are clapping him on the back and heading down to the training ground.

 

/

 

His first training session is, for lack of a better word, interesting. Pep speaks in a mixture of English, German and Spanish so the whole team can understand. He sticks close to Javi and Pepe Reina because he knows them from the national team and it feels like a reunion between old friends.

They’re sent off to do stretching in pairs and Reina quickly reaches for Martinez, leaving Xabi partner less. Alaba notices him standing alone so he approaches him.

"Hi, I don’t know if you remember but I’m David. We met —"

“During the champions league semi-final. How could I forget?”

Alaba gives Xabi a big, toothy smile that reminds him of how Jon and Ane smile at him. It’s so endearing that Xabi’s tempted to ask him to stop.

"Wanna stretch?"

Xabi nods and pulls his sleeves over his fingers.

"Sorry about the weather," Alaba says as he leads them to an empty spot of grass.

"It’s not your fault," Xabi replies, speeding up his steps so they’re walking at the same pace.

"How are you liking Munich so far?"

"Not bad. The weather’s not the greatest but I actually really like it," Xabi says as he takes a seat on the grass, “Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t think I’d dislike it or anything, but I thought it’d take some time to get used to. I already feel used to everything… Except the food.”

Alaba giggles, literally giggles, and Xabi just wants to hug this 22-year-old man child.

Bastian shows up halfway through training wearing a grey Burberry cashmere sweater (Xabi only knows this because he bought the exact same one in burgundy the other day) and navy shorts. He looks good. He’s still injured from the World Cup and he’s ruled out for at least four more weeks. He stands with one of the trainers and Xabi has to make a conscious effort not to look at him. Practice continues as usual and before he knows it, it’s finished.

Bastian wanders over to them after they warm down and he greets everyone first, saving Xabi for last.  
Xabi extends his hand expectantly but the other man has other plans. Bastian envelops Xabi in a hug and when he pulls away, he keeps his hands firmly planted on Xabi’s arms and just looks at him. Even though they're looking each other in the eye, all Xabi can think about is Bastian's hands. How Bastian’s hands feel on his skin, the way they grip his biceps gently but firmly and the way Bastian subconsciously brushes his thumbs over them.

"Xabi Alonso in a Bayern kit, I never thought I’d see the day."

"Yeah," is all Xabi can manage to say because his mind is distracted by the small circles Bastian’s drawing on his biceps.

"We’re really glad to have you here," Bastian says, finally letting go of Xabi’s arms and bringing his own arms to his sides.

"I’m really glad to be here."

 

/

 

Alaba, who Xabi just decided is now his son, drives Xabi to the hotel he’s staying at even though he tells him a thousand times that the club got him a driver. He orders room service and finds an English news channel before skyping with his kids. All he can think about when he’s finally in bed is those hands on his skin. Bastian’s hands smoothing out the lines on his forehead, rubbing his back and holding his neck. He comes so hard he almost passes out.


	2. Here and There

He starts his first game for Bayern that Saturday. When he puts on the blue and red kit he thinks something supernatural might happen, expects to be transformed in some significant way, but he isn’t. He’s still the same Xabi, now donning new colours. The game’s away against Schalke, and he’s not at his best but he definitely isn’t at his worst.

 

He starts the match and Pep subs him off in the 67th minute and whispers _“buen trabajo" _when he leaves the field.__

__

__Højbjerg and Reina make room for him on the bench and it suddenly dawns on him how unfamiliar everything is. The atmosphere is different, the kits are different and, as strange as it sounds, even the grass is different. It might be the lights reflecting the pitch but the grass actually looks greener in Germany._ _

__

__-_ _

__

__His first home game is the following week against Stuttgart and he feels gut wrenchingly nervous. He ties and unties his laces in the change room to calm down._ _

__

__“You know they’re just laces, right? They don’t need to be perfect," Müller says as he does his own laces beside Xabi, "Nervous?"_ _

__

__Xabi reties the laces on his left shoe before moving on to his right. “A little.”_ _

__

__"Don’t be nervous —"  
“They’ll love you,” two guys -whose names he's already forgotten- call out to him in thick accents._ _

__

__Pep takes a seat next to Xabi and puts an arm on his shoulder. He braces himself for an emotionally charged motivational speech but he doesn’t get it. Instead he hears:_ _

___"Xabi, you’re a skilled footballer who has sensational control of the midfield. Your passes are… breathtaking? Yes, breathtaking is the word. And with an average pass accuracy of 89 per cent a game, what’s not to love?"_ _ _

__

__The whole room is filled with laughter because only Pep would try and encourage someone by recounting statistics._ _

__

__Pep raises his eyebrows in confusion. “That was comforting, no?”_ _

__

__Xabi waits a second too long to reply, and Pep’s already making his way to someone else by the time he thinks of something to say. Xabi hears him asking one of the trainers whether what he said was comforting, but the trainer gives a slight shake of the head._ _

__

__Lahm mimics Pep, much to Pep’s annoyance and the rest of the team’s delight. Xabi rests his head on the metal locker beside him and takes a few deep breaths. He starts to feel mildly calmer until Alaba takes a seat beside him and whispers _“Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ve forgotten that you kicked Germany out of the World Cup in 2010.”_ _ _

__

__The thought never crossed his mind before and his heart rate starts to pick up._ _

__

__"You think so?"_ _

__

__Alaba grins at him and shakes his head, “Not a chance.”_ _

__

__Xabi sighs and makes a mental note to never ask Alaba for pre-game encouragement because regardless of how adorable he is, the 22-year-old isn’t as innocent as he looks. He's normally calmness personified but this is different. This is his introduction and his chance to make an impression to his new family at his new home, and he doesn’t want to disappoint the fans._ _

__

__He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. With 122 passes and a passing accuracy of 93% in the first half alone, how could he? The fans love him, lather him in so much affection that he doesn’t even know what to do with it. It’s nothing like his first game at Anfield where Stevie and Carra basically held his hand the whole time, and he was eased into it by being subbed in instead of starting. It’s not like his first game at the Bernabéu where the crowd already knew him, already loved him for all he’s done for the national team. At the Bernabéu, it wasn’t a first meeting, it was more of a reunion. Bayern is different. He feels like he's being pushed into the deep end of the pool, and instead of having people hold his hand or relying on his past accomplishments, he’s starting this fresh and alone, but he knows he has his team's support if he needs it. It’s both terrifying and liberating at the same time and Xabi loves it, relishes in it. Hopes he thrives in it._ _

__

__-_ _

__

__He’s absentmindedly looking at the door when Bastian walks in the change room so they make eye contact straight away. He doesn’t expect Bastian to approach him or anything, but he’s happy when he does. They don’t say anything when Bastian takes a seat next to him, they just smile at each other and to themselves as they observe what’s going on in the change room._ _

__

__“You were great out there," Bastian starts and Xabi's smile gets wider. "And to think Thomas was worried that you were going to run away or something,” Bastian finishes as he pushes Xabi’s leg with his knee and he laughs._ _

__

__“Thanks, but I couldn’t run away even if I wanted to. I’d probably get lost and have to call someone for help.”_ _

__

__“And imagine what they’d write in the newspapers? ‘Xabi Alonso tries to runaway from his home debut, but ends up getting lost in the car park of the Allianz’.”_ _

__

__Xabi feigns an offended look. “Car park? Give me some credit. I’d at least make it down the road.”_ _

__

__“Okay, okay, you’d at least make it down the road,” Bastian concedes, and they both start laughing._ _

__

__Xabi’s still partially naked, only wearing caramel (yes, he’s pretentious and calls them caramel even though they’re clearly brown) chinos and his black desert boots. When they stop laughing, he, and half the people in the room, starts watching Müller who’s attempting to dance but it looks like he’s possessed or performing some strange animal mating ritual. Xabi likes it though, it’s funny and random, and from what he’s learnt about Thomas since arriving in Munich, it’s very _him_. From the corner of his eye, he sees Bastian's eyes scanning his torso. He almost forgets to breathe and he tries harder to focus on Thomas, but now the man’s just a blur and all he can think of is Bastian. When Thomas finishes, everyone claps and pretends to throw flowers at his feet. Thomas bows dramatically, almost falling over one of the benches, before making his way to the showers. _ _

__

__Bastian gets a text and Xabi takes a glance at the screen before realising what he’s doing._ _

__

__**Lukas Podolski: The Westin Grand München.** _ _

__

__Bastian's face falls as soon as he reads the text but he tries to recover as he just puts the phone in his pocket. Xabi silently wishes he hadn't been staring at the door._ _

__

__“It’s not what you think."_ _

__

__He sounds guilty, like a boy who’s mother’s caught him eating dessert before dinner._ _

__

__Xabi shrugs, and he’s a little surprised even though he’s heard rumours about them before but he'd always assumed they were just rumours. If he’s being honest with himself, he's a little hurt and something in his stomach drops, but he’ll deal with that later._ _

__

__“No, no, you don't have to explain anything to me. I shouldn't have been looking at your phone anyway,” he says, trying not to let the jealousy seep into his voice._ _

__

__“Yeah, I know but —“_ _

__

__“Bastian, it's none of my business.”_ _

__

__Xabi’s voice has a tone of finality in it so the other man just nods and swallows loudly. With all the energy he has in him, Xabi puts on one of those trademark Alonso smiles of his and puts on his grey sweater._ _

__

__“Have a great night, Bastian,” he says before he walks away in search of new company._ _


	3. Touch

Never in his dizziest daydreams or wildest fantasies has Xabi ever imagined he’d be wearing lederhosen. In Munich. Drinking authentic Bavarian beer. For a photoshoot for Bayern Munich. Life’s so crazy that sometimes he spends hours pinching himself, wondering _“how did I get here?”_ The question’s not meant to be existential or answered, and it’s forgotten when he’s buying himself custom silver watches with gold detailing, or when he’s paying bills for his apartments in Paris and Dubai, because he doesn’t care _how_ , he’s just thankful that life turned out the way it did.

-

Photo shoot day is one of Xabi’s favourite perks that come with the job. He loves the camera, and, from what he’s been told, the camera loves him back. It’s a match made in advertising heaven. He carpooled with Müller, who decided to show up at his door before he had time to get breakfast, so he looks longingly at the food as if it was made by God himself. Pep and some of the team are already sitting around one long picnic table dressed with red and white tablecloths. There are floral arrangements, small white candles, beer and there’s platters of pastries, bread - real food instead of the plastic food decorations on the table. They get first choice of seats out of the older team members, just as Müller hoped. Naturally, they choose a corner at the far end of the table so the camera won’t be in their faces while they’re eating. Manuel is the second to arrive, followed by Lahm, Pep, Dante, and the rest of the team pours in not long after. Lahm takes one of the seats next to Xabi and David (who arrives exactly at 11 and who’s no longer Xabi’s pretend son anymore because of his poor pre-game pep talk) sits on the other side of him. Bastian, Robben, and Jerome are the last to arrive and they mumble something about flat tires and traffic. The flat tire thing is believable with Robben because he has some shitty ancient car, but the toothpaste stain on Bastian’s shirt, and the half-dead look in Jerome’s eyes suggest they slept in. 

The team left them the best seats in the room, right in front of the camera. A few players sitting close enough to the front whisper what sounds like:

"You snooze, you lose."

"First in, best dressed, boys."

"Early bird gets the worm."

 

They begrudgingly sit down and Bastian takes a look at the seating arrangements. He feels a pang in his chest when he sees Xabi sitting in what’s supposed to be _his_ chair, with _his_ friends, at _his_ club. It’s childish and irrational because they’re all friends and it’s his own fault — well, technically it’s Jerome’s fault because he insisted that they have a FIFA15 marathon and he didn’t bother to set his alarm — so he has to try and be a rational adult about this. What makes the pang in his chest feel a lot stronger is that he hasn’t seen Xabi since they last spoke in the locker room. For less than a split second, he thinks Xabi’s trying to muscle in on his friends as a twisted way of punishing him for — well, he’s not really sure what for — but he dismisses the thought as soon as it comes because it doesn’t make sense. He blames the thought on the pain medication he’s taking for his leg. It must be making him delusion.

 

For the most part, the shoot is routine. Everyone’s laughing, Müller’s trying — and failing — to start a food fight, and the beer keeps coming, much to Xabi’s dismay because it tastes like yeast mixed with sparkling water.

The first time he tastes it he makes a face that’s a cross between the face you’d make before you’re about to vomit and the face you’d make before you’re about to sneeze. He prays the photographer didn’t catch it. The photographer doesn’t seem to notice, or if she does, she chooses not to say anything. She just keeps taking photos and repeating, “Ja, like this” and “I love it”.

 

Bastian, Jerome, David, and Philipp, because he has eyes like a hawk and never misses a thing, see it.

 

Philipp takes a sip of his beer and sets it down in the table. “You don’t like it?”

 

"It’s, uh... different?"

 

Højbjerg chimes in from three seats away from him, his glass already half empty. “I’ll have yours if you don’t want it.”

 

The proposal sounds tempting, and Højbjerg is already downing the rest of the contents of his glass to make room, but Lahm interjects.

 

"Sorry, but you have a one drink minimum. Oh, and when you drink it be sure to smile like you mean it, because this company sponsors us and happy sponsors mean happy lives," Lahm says through gritted teeth, nails playfully digging into Xabi’a shoulder and a Cheshire cat smile plastered on his face.

 

It’s bitter and he forces himself to swallow it down by promising himself some Corona when he gets back to his apartment.

 

Alaba just laughs at the exchange and from, but Bastian gives him a sympathetic smile.

 

"Help," Xabi mouths to him as he waves his napkin a little.

 

Bastian’s sympathetic smile turns into a grin as he pulls out his phone and sends him a quick message.

 

**"What’s in it for me?”**

 

_"The knowledge that you’ve saved a struggling Spaniard from drinking what I can only assume to be yeast water.”_

 

**"Hm, tempting but I need something better.”**

 

Xabi glares at him from down the table and Philipp gives him a gentle nudge so can smile for the camera.

 

_"Anything you want.”_

 

**"Anything I want?”**

 

Xabi looks at his glass, 3/4 full and sighs. He types a simple _“Yes.”_

 

**”Xabier Alonso, you’ve got yourself a deal.”**

 

No sooner than Xabi reads the text, Bastian nonchalantly says, “maybe we should change positions… y’know, mix things up a little."

 

The photographer’s eyes widen as if she’s having an epiphany.

 

"Ja, Ja, I love it. Perfect. Perfect."

 

"I was just about to suggest that," one of her assistants says from behind her, but she ignores him.

 

The team is understandably confused, but they stand up anyway and slowly navigate to new positions. Bastian strides over to the now vacant seat next to Xabi and takes a seat before anyone else can.

 

"This was your great plan?"

 

"No, this is."

 

Bastian takes their glasses and pours the rest of Xabi’s drink into his own glass under the table while everyone’s too busy finding new seats.

When Bastian puts the glasses back on the table, Xabi breathes a sigh of relief. He’s never been happier to see an empty glass of beer in his life.

He doesn’t drink anything but water, and their knees touch for the rest of their shoot. In the moments when Bastian’s smiling at the camera, or talking to someone across the table, Xabi sneaks a look at him and his hands and wishes he could touch them.

 

-

 

He sort of gets his wish when they end up at his house. They’re sitting on his couch watching Braveheart because it’s one of Xabi’s favourite films and Bastian’s never seen it, a mistake Xabi aims to rectify immediately, and everyone (well, just Thomas, Alaba and Mario) has fallen asleep on the make-shift beds because they had too much beer at the shoot. He’s explaining something about Mel Gibson’s character and Bastian just reaches for his hand under the blanket. Just like that. He’s so casual about it Xabi thinks he’s imagining things. 

He tries to finish what he was saying but he's so distracted by those hands that his voice betrays him. God, Bastian’s hands, Bastian’s hands, Bastian’s fucking hands with their blue veins popping out and his thin wrists and long fingers. They’re so beautiful and Xabi wants them on him, and in him, and everywhere.

"Mel Gibson's the guy from Lethal Weapon, right?"

Xabi just nods because he can’t speak, can’t think, and probably can’t even remember his own name. He's done for. Absolutely done for, and he knows it, but he doesn't care. He doesn't make an effort to move his hand away or distance himself from Bastian, he just decides to enjoys this, whatever it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I personally don't like Bavarian beer so please don't take offence to my description of it.  
> Also, as you can clearly tell, this is loosely based on fact but I've taken some artistic license and changed things, so, yeah.


	4. Taste

It happens a few more times after that. Bastian’s back at training so sometimes it happens when they’re stretching in pairs and they both hold on a little longer than necessary, or when they’re walking and their hands just graze each other’s so gently that it could’ve been an accident, but it happens too often for it not to be on purpose.

 

-

 

They’ve just won 7-1 against Roma and everyone’s dizzy with excitement about meeting the pope. And, why not? If they could beat Roma 7-1 without the help of divine intervention, imagine what they could do with it.

They each get a turn to shake hands with the pope and when it’s Xabi’s turn, he’s tempted to ask the Argentine father where he gets his robes tailored because they’re impeccably done, but he decides that it would be inappropriate to ask such a thing and he could probably find the answer if he googled hard enough.

They get led into a prayer room afterwards and Xabi wedges himself in the fifth pew from the altar between Javi and Reina. The pope leads them in prayer and when he closes his eyes and bows his head, all sound and sight disappears and all he can think of is Bastian. His lips can’t help but twitch up into a smile. He’s not religious, never has been and he doubts he ever will be, but as he squeezes his eyelids shut and presses the palms of his hands closer together, he prays for Bastian. He zones out for the rest of the prayer but manages to zone back in for the ending.

 

_"— May you guide these men through adversity, help them resist temptation, and lead them to victory when it is your will. Amen.”_

 

"Amen," everyone repeats after the gentle Argentine.

 

 

-

 

 

After prayer they’re taken on a short tour of Rome then they head back to their hotel where most of them get unceremoniously drunk. The drinking starts in the hotel bar, but it continues in their rooms. Xabi’s sharing a room with Reina but Javis’s managed to sneak himself into their room, and now potato chips, beer bottles and jellybeans are scattered all over the floor. _I just went for a quiet 15 minute stroll_ , Xabi thinks to himself, kicking himself for leaving Javi and Reina alone with beer.

 

“Reina, hombre, you couldn’t keep it together for fifteen minutes,” he inquires as he takes a look the room.

 

“Is he wearing my sweater? Joder, Reina. You let him take my bed and my _sweater_?”

 

Reina groans on his bed and rolls around to face the wall so he’s no longer facing Xabi. Pep would freak if Xabi told them what happened, and Alaba’s already sharing a room with Mario and although they have an extra bed, he doesn’t want to put himself through a night of hearing them talk about FIFA 15 or whatever game they’re hooked on. It seems like he’s in this by himself. Reluctantly, he tiptoes over the mess on the floor and gives Javi a little poke. Javi’s unresponsive so Xabi gives him an unceremonious shove. Javi just groans.

 

“What room are you staying in?”

 

“What?”

 

“What room are you staying in?” Xabi asks.

 

“Christ, Javi. What. Room. Are. You. Staying. In?” he demands, giving Javi another unceremonious shove.

 

Javi just groans again, and Xabi sighs in defeat.

 

 

SMS

From: Xabi Alonso

Received: 21:45:34

Hi David, I’m sorry to bother you but do you happen to know what room Javi’s staying in?

 

SMS

From: David Alaba

Received: 21:49:44

lmao y do u write like ur 50??? and nah sry idk

 

SMS

From: Xabi Alonso

Received: 21:50:14

…I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand what you’re saying.

 

SMS

From: David Alaba

Received: 21:52:09

Idk = I don’t know. Lahm should know tho

 

SMS  
From: Xabi Alonso

Received: 21:56:55

Oh, right… Yes, thank you very much. Goodnight David.

 

SMS

From: David Alaba

Received: 22:00:01

No problema amigo!

 

SMS

From: Xabi Alonso

Received: 22:01:42

Hi Philipp, I know it's late and I’m sorry to bother you but do you know what room Javi’s staying in?

 

SMS

From: Philipp Lahm

Received: 22:05:03

He’s staying in room 102... I hope you’re not planning on going up to see him. It’s almost 10:30 and you all should be asleep!

 

SMS

From: Xabi Alonso

Received: 22:12:14

No, nothing of the sort. I was just curious. Thank you very much!

 

SMS

From: Philipp Lahm

Received: 22:15:04

No problem. Goodnight.

 

SMS

From: Xabi Alonso

Received: 22:20:01

Goodnight and thanks again.

 

Reluctantly, Xabi puts digs through his suitcase for another sweater and gives Javi another unceremonious push for good measure. He makes his way up to Javi's room by stairs just in case Philipp’s wandering the halls. He stands outside of room 102 half tired and half annoyed so he takes a few breaths to calm himself. He knocks twice, then twice more when Javi’s roommate doesn’t answer. Bastian answers the door.

 

“Joder."

 

Bastian just raises his eyebrow but there’s a smile tugging at his lips.

 

“Sorry, I mean’t hello.”

 

“Hi,” Bastian answers as he takes a look at Xabi’s suitcase, “let me guess, you’re moving in here?”

 

Xabi just nods and Bastian opens the door wider and takes a step back to let him enter.

 

“I’m really sorry. It’s just that Javi drank too much and basically stole my room, and my sweater… This is basically my only option so, here I am," he says as he raises his hands defeatedly.

 

Bastian just laughs and gestures toward the two beds joined together in the middle of the room.

 

“Would you like a drink?”

 

“As long as it’s not Bavarian,” Xabi responds, kicking off his loafers and laying down on the bed.

 

Bastian hands him a bottle of Corona, and lies down beside him.

 

“Danke schön.”

 

“Nada problema.”

 

“You speak Spanish?”

 

“I dabble,” Bastian says through a smirk.

 

Bastian’s drinking his beer like its holy water and Xabi just watches him, worships him, drinks him in. Bastian puts his bottle on the floor and turns to Xabi with a mixture of excitement and intrigue in his eyes. When Bastian’s fingers caress his face it feels like he’s being blessed, but it’s not about Bastian’s hands anymore. It’s about so much more. It’s about Bastian’s face and his chest and the way he pronounces his name — Shavi rather than Chabi - and even the way he looks at him with his big eyes that look like far away galaxies that he wants to explore. They both haven’t been drinking much so Xabi knows he can’t hide behind the haze of a drunken hour. It’s just him as he is. He feels naked and vulnerable at the thought because this is all he has to offer and it might not be enough. His hands practically shake when he cups Bastian’s face and kisses him.

Bastian kisses back hesitantly at first, but gets more confident when Xabi pulls his face in closer. Bastian straddles him and Xabi holds onto the back of his thighs. They both realise they’re wearing too many clothes and they practically race to take off Bastian’s shirt. Xabi’s left awestruck at Bastian's sculpted torso, and for a brief moment, Xabi wonders whether the awe he’s feeling is the same awe Galileo felt when he first gazed at the stars.

 

“Joder, look at you."

 

They’re both eager, Bastian more so than Xabi but any composure Xabi’s still feigning dissolves like ice in water. He’s never really lost himself in someone before, or had someone lose themselves to him. When he’s with Nagore it’s different. She’s delicate so he’s always careful when he’s in her. They do the same things because she loves familiarity, craves it. He’s always holding back because he’s terrified of hurting her.

 

Bastian grinds down on him, already half hard in his pyjamas and Xabi moans into his mouth. He’s pulling down Bastian’s pants now, and the other man has to get off so they can come off completely. Bastian’s about to straddle him again when Xabi gently pushes him off so he can lift himself off the bed.

 

“No, no, let me blow you.”

 

Bastian just nods and his mouth goes dry as Xabi gets to his knees. He looks up at him, eyes wide and mouth already wet, and fuck, Bastian thinks he’s about to lose it right there and then. Xabi strokes him first, drawing out little moans, then he takes all of him in his mouth, and Bastian twitches, instinctively threads his fingers through Xabi’s hair and exhales a loud _“Fuck”_

 

When Xabi takes all of him in his mouth Bastian can hardly breathe, can’t even speak, he wonders how he’s still standing. He fucks into Xabi’s mouth, hitting the back of his throat a few times but the Spaniard keeps going, keeps working him until he’s so close he has to try and push him off, but Xabi just looks at him behind his long lashes and shakes his head.

 

“Xabi, I— I’m going to c—“

 

And he does, fingers pulling painfully at Xabi’s hair and eyes closed so tight he sees galaxies behind his eyelids. He opens his eyes just in time to see Xabi take him out of his mouth, a mixture of spit and come dripping from his chin, eyes slightly teary.

 

“Fuck,” Bastian mumbles to himself, and Xabi just wipes his chin with the back of his hand before heading to the bathroom.

 

Bastian follows. He comes up from behind the Spaniard and just palms him until he managers to undo his zipper and take him in his hands. Xabi bites his lip and lets out a loud moan.

Bastian’s not that experienced with hand jobs, he’s a semi-frequent receiver and a rare giver, but what he lacks in experience he makes up for with enthusiasm. He starts off slow but gradually quickens the pace so the other man has to steady himself on the bathroom sink. Xabi tries to look down the drain but Bastian lifts his chin with his other hand so he’s looking at himself in the mirror.

 

When Xabi comes he unravels, losing himself completely. He hardly recognises himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by a few fics I read last week, but I unfortunately can't find the links. I'll post them if I find them.
> 
> Also, this is my first time writing a semi-explicit sex scene so yeah.


	5. Sight (or lack of it)

They can’t stop once they start. Xabi itches with anticipation of taste, touch and sight. He’s so hungry for Bastian that he thinks he could devour him whole. He’s consumed by him and he wants to do the same to him. Bastian’s just as desperate for it, if not more so, and he’s often trying to lead Xabi astray with gentle touches and flashes of skin that he knows will drive Xabi insane.

It usually starts off innocent enough with soft touches and gentle caresses but it always leads to overly enthusiastic handjobs in empty parking lots or frantic kissing behind random buildings and empty storage rooms.

It’s thrilling, exciting and all things synonymous with the words. It makes Xabi feel lightheaded, energised. He feels like he’s having a long drink of water after years of thirst. This _thing_ refreshes him, enlivens him, and make him feel like he’s lost a few years. He’d never admit this to anyone, especially not to himself, but he hasn’t felt this way since Liverpool. Since Stevie. 

 

-

 

The tie against Hoffenheim is unexpected to say the least. Granted, Hoffenheim’s not a weak team by any stretch of the imagination and you should never underestimate your opponents. But still. They’re Bayern Munich. They should’ve won. The draw feels more like a loss than a draw.

Xabi’s one of the last ones to wander back in the dressing room, having been consumed in deep conversation with one of the Spaniards on the other team, and he immediately feels the change in atmosphere. It’s eerily quiet, Dante’s not playing any music, Mario and David aren’t arguing over who’s going to be who when they replay the match on FIFA and even Thomas, who’s always talking about something whether it be horses, football or grass texture, is silent.

Xabi wants to get out of there as soon as he enters. He silently takes a seat next to Neuer who looks like he’s the only one not facing impending death.

 

"Are they always like this after a —" Xabi drifts off, unsure of what to call it.

 

Neuer shrugs.

"Sometimes. They’ll get over it, just give them a day or two."

 

"It’s just so quiet,” Xabi replies, thinking for a moment. "I almost miss Thomas’ voice," he says as he shakes his head in disbelief.

 

Neuer looks at him like he’s grown a second head. 

“Trust me, you don’t mean that."

 

Like clockwork, Thomas stands up and jumps on one of the benches, almost slipping and falling on the ground in the process. Pep automatically shakes his head in disapproval. 

 

"Let me tell you a joke,” he says excitedly, waving his hands to draw attention to himself. 

 

Neuer groans and a few towels fly in Thomas’ direction but he continues anyway.

 

"What do you call a horse without a tail?"

 

"Shut up," Arjen mumbles, as he throws a plastic bottle that narrowly misses Thomas’ head. 

 

"Hey!" Thomas yells.

 

Xabi catches Bastian’s glance from across the room and his lips tug up into a smile, relishing in the dressing room’s return to normalcy.

 

 

-

 

 

Xabi introduces Bastian to Nagore at Octoberfest and it’s a lot more painful than Bastian anticipates. He knew it would happen eventually but he didn’t think his bubble would burst so soon, so suddenly, and at Octoberfest of all places. Because the world is conspiring against him, he gets put on the same table as Xabi, Nagore, Philipp, Claudia, Thomas and Sarah and he silently stews in the fact that he’s surrounded by couples until Dante shows up alone and takes the seat next to him.

 

"Let me guess, you got ditched too,” Bastian says as Dante takes a seat.

 

"No. The kids are sick with the flu or some bug they caught at school so Jocelina's stuck playing nurse for the day," Dante says with a groan.

 

"Sounds fun."

 

Dante shrugs.   
“It comes with the job. You’ll understand when you have your own little Schweinsteigers,” Dante replies pinching Bastian’s cheeks.

 

Xabi and Nagore are the last to arrive to the table so they’re forced to sit between Bastian and Thomas. Nagore sits next to Bastian and she's so beautiful, more beautiful than the pictures he's seen of her, and he’s suddenly very self-conscious. 

 

There are a few introductions before they break out into small conversations and Bastian and Nagore are left to talk to each other because Xabi’s talking to Reina on the table beside them, Dante’s frantically texting, and the rest of the table is talking about things Bastian doesn’t particular have any interest in such as superannuation, child friendly restaurants and teething. 

 

"Xabi speaks highly of Munich, of the team. _Of you_ ," Nagore says suddenly as she interlocks her fingers with Xabi’s, who’s still in deep in conversation with Reina but he flashes her a small smile before returning to his conversation.

 

She rubs small circles on the back of Xabi’s hand with her fingers and a something in Bastian’s chest deflates.

 

"I’m glad. He’s a great player and we’re happy to have him."

 

Nagore doesn’t smile, just looks at him, sizes him up. Bastian can feel the pink rising in his cheeks and he almost wants to bury his head in his hands.

 

"Are you two very close?"

 

It’s a loaded question and Bastian knows it, he knows that she knows it’s a loaded question. He simultaneously knows and doesn’t know what she’s asking him.

 

_"Well, we’ve kissed a handful of times and we can hardly keep our hands off of each other when we're alone… So, yeah, I guess you can say we’re pretty close.” ___

__

__He doesn’t say that though. Instead he opts for a casual “Sort of. He’s easy to get along with.”_ _

__

__She gives him a soft smile._ _

__

__"He is."_ _

__

__-_ _

__

__After dinner, they break off and dance. Xabi’s got his hands around Nagore’s waist and he’s spinning her around like they’re love struck teenagers at prom. They’re out of sync with the music and they don’t look like the epitome of class and elegance that they usually do, but they seem happy. And Bastian hates it. He gawks at them from across the room with a drink in his hand. Nagore whispers something particularly funny in Xabi’s ear and he throws his head back as he laughs, neck stretched and exposed and all Bastian can think of is that he was kissing that neck less than 24 hours ago in a storage shed at the Allianz. Dante and Philipp try to involve him in their conversation but Bastian’s only half paying attention. Instead, he’s imagining scenarios where he strides over to Xabi and Nagore and asks to dance with her. Xabi, like a gentleman, will say yes so he’ll dance with her, hand tightly on her waist and the other gripping her fingers for dear life and he’ll whisper _“I’m going to fuck your husband when you go back to Spain. How does that make you feel, Nagore? How does it make you feel that I’m going to make him come until he’s in tears, until his screaming my name like a prayer. Until he forgets you.”_ Then he’s going to continue dancing with her until the song finishes, all the while making heart-eyes at Xabi._ _

__It’s terrible. He knows. He knows but he still wishes it would happen. Instead, he’s sitting with Dante and Philipp watching Xabi dance with his wife like they’re the only people in the room, like they’re the only people in the world._ _

__

__-_ _

__

__Bastian’s beyond the point of caring about how he comes across. He’s so far gone for Xabi and he _really_ needs to get off so he doesn’t care whether or not he looks desperate calling him at midnight. The phone rattles on the night stand Nagore instantly groans at the sound of it._ _

__

__“Hola?"_ _

__

__“Xabi."_ _

__

__"Bastian? Hello. Are you okay? Is everything alright," Xabi replies as he gets out of bed and pads his way out of the room._ _

__

__He quietly shuts the bedroom door and walks down the corridor into the spare room before he collapses on the bed._ _

__

__“I want you."_ _

__

__Xabi lets out a sheepish laugh._ _

__

__“You’ll have me tomorrow."_ _

__

__Bastian takes a slight intake of breath and Xabi blinks himself awake._ _

__

__"Bastian, are you —“_ _

__

__“I met this girl at the bar tonight," Bastian starts off, unsure of where the conversation's headed. "She was blonde, I think. Thin. Beautiful. Anyway, we went back to her house and, you know. She was so tight and loud, but all I could think of was you when I was in her, when she was calling out my name.”_ _

__

__Xabi’s dick twitches and he takes a deep breath._ _

__

__"I can’t do this. Nagore and the kids are in the other room."_ _

__

__Xabi thinks about hanging up, thinks about it but doesn’t. He stays on the phone and absentmindedly strokes himself through his pyjamas._ _

__

__“I think about you a lot, you know.”_ _

__

__“Yeah,” Xabi says breathlessly, his hands working himself faster._ _

__

__Bastian seems to have the same idea and his breathing’s heavier on the other end._ _

__

__“I want to fuck you, Xabi. I actually think about it a lot… In the shower, in bed, whenever we’re alone. I think about pulling your hair and kissing your neck. I think about all the sounds you'd make when i'm pressing inside of you,” Bastian says, stroking himself faster. "And. And I think about you begging for it. Eyes wide and your lips a little pouty like they get when you don't get your way."_ _

__

__Xabi doesn’t say anything, keeps stroking himself faster and he’s so close he has to put the phone between his ear and his shoulder so he can cover his mouth to stifle his moans. Bastian’s louder on the other end. He’s moaning loudly and Xabi can imagine how his face looks, lips digging into his bottom teeth and hands wandering all over his body as if he’s making a show for himself._ _

__

__“Do you want to want to fuck me?”_ _

__

__The question catches Xabi off guard and he lets out a loud _“yes”_ as he comes. Bastian comes shortly afterwards and they stay on the phone for a long time as they both try and catch their breaths. Xabi sheepishly cleans himself up when they hang up and falls asleep in a mess of blankets. He hasn't slept this well in months._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry it's taken me so long to write something. I've been really busy with school, work and life in general. And, if i'm honest, I haven't really been inspired to write anything.


	6. Fight or Flight?

It’s said that guilt can devour man, can break him until he’s as broken as fallen glass, but clearly guilt can’t devour a man as much a want. Want seeps into the mind, body and spirit until it consumes you, until it swallows you like fog. Xabi’s only ever felt guilty a dozen times in his adult life, but this isn’t one of those occasions.

 

-

 

The first time he cheated on Nagore he felt like the world was tilting, like he was off-kilter. It was with a gorgeous blonde during his Anfield days. He’s certain her name started with A - whether it's Ana or Amy, he can't recall - and she was an office aid. Long story short, Carra introduced them at his birthday party and they met up at a hotel later that night. He was nervous but she was nice about the whole thing, made him feel comfortable and more importantly, wanted. She pulled his hair, left trails of kisses and bite marks on his skin and he felt so _alive_. Reality came crashing down on him the next morning when he awoke with their legs tangled and his breath smelling like bubblegum and strawberry sangria. He felt so guilty that he took Nagore to her favourite restaurant and confessed his infidelity over coffee and crepes. It wasn’t her favourite restaurant anymore.

It was different with Stevie. She found bruises on his chest when he was getting ready for the annual Christmas party and she was livid, eyes wide and face a rare shade of red. She demanded to know the name of the 'whore' Xabi was seeing. She threatened to take the kids and leave if he didn’t tell him her name.

"It was Stevie."

“Gerrard?” she asked quietly. “You’re fucking Steven Gerrard?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what are you doing, Xabi?”

He didn’t answer her because he didn’t know how. He didn’t know where he stood with his captain and whether what they had meant anything at all. (He later found out it didn't.) 

Nagore didn’t speak to him for the rest of the night except when Xabi told her he was slipping out for some fresh air. Nagore saw Stevie leaving the room minutes before he told her and she only replied, “You’re following him around not knowing that he’s leading you astray.”

The guilt subsided then disappeared altogether as he continued to fuck Stevie in hotels and, on rare occasions, in his house. Nagore pretended she didn’t care. Sometimes Xabi thinks she pretended not to know who was calling Xabi so late at night or why he made frequent, and often sudden, trips to Liverpool. He guesses that ignorance really is bliss. Sometimes.

Things ended with Stevie a year into his spell at Madrid. He was crestfallen but he’d never seen Nagore smile so much, like she had won a battle she’d been fighting for years. _He chose me_ , Xabi imagines her thinking, blissfully unaware that the decision was made for him.

Then there was Russian Red, but that story has too many twists and turns Xabi doesn’t know how it all unraveled. He’s normally careful, leaves no trace of his infidelity, but now he has a song with his name as the title and a lot of people piecing two and two together. Xabi regrets her most of all.

Bastian’s different. Or so Xabi tells himself time and time again when they’re stealing kissing in closets at training or giving each other handjobs in hotel rooms. The thing is, Bastian’s got as much to lose as Xabi does, if not more, so if it all goes downhill then they’ll both go down together. _’How romantic,’_ Bastian scoffs when Xabi tells him this.

 

-

 

Xabi’s bones ache and his body feels ten times heavier after the game against Schalke. His opponents were so young and they ran so fast that he felt like he was running an impossible race against them. Age is starting to catch up to him and he thinks, he knows he’s not the player he once was and his body doesn’t recover from matches as quickly as it used to. He laments this all the while Bastian lies beside him, head on his chest and buried in a book. 

"You’re so young," Xabi says before he can stop himself.

Bastian just laughs.

"I’m 29."

"29," Xabi repeats, mind flashing memories of when he was 29.

He sighs because for the first time in a long time, he feels _old_. He knows he’s just being moody because he had a bad game against a young team, but that still doesn’t hide the fact that his playing days are numbered and his career is coming to an end. He sighs again and Bastian must notice the change in Xabi’s demeanour and the slight sag of his shoulders because he leans in a plants a chaste kiss on Xabi’s lips but the kiss turns passionate and Bastian ends up straddling Xabi while roaming his hands in his hair. 

Philipp walks in and sees. He not only sees it, he feels wronged by it, like it’s him who Bastian’s hurting. He feels disappointed that his best friend could do this to people he cares about, that he didn’t catch on earlier.

Bastian lets out a squeal and Xabi looks like he’s seen a ghost. All the redness drains from his face and he suddenly feels like he’s too close to Bastian even though they’re now divided by more than two meters. He needs him to go to the opposite side of the room, to another room, to another fucking city. He thinks Berlin would be too close. He feels so claustrophobic he might just have a panic attack right there and then.

Philipp mumbles a quick apology before leaving the room as quickly as he entered it. Bastian grabs one of the shirts discarded on the floor and follows him. Xabi’s grateful that there’s more space between them.

"Philipp I—" he says as he pulls the shirt over his head in the lobby, only to realise it’s the shirt Xabi was wearing earlier.

"God, Bastian, you could’ve at least locked the door."

"I-"

"I knocked."

"Phi—,"

Philipp ignores him.

"I knocked three times so this isn’t my fault, okay? Don’t you dare blame this on me."

The tiny captain’s in hysterics, eyes wide and a few veins popping out of the side of his neck. He’s not screaming but Bastian wishes he was. He wishes he’d raise his voice so loud it would cancel out the deafening silence. He takes a step toward him but Philipp takes a quick step back. He’s staring at Philipp’s face but Philipp doesn’t even look at him.

"I’m not blaming anything on you," he says slowly, voice laced with sincerity.

Again, his words fall on deaf ears.

"I’ve got to go and check on the others."

"Just here me out, Phil. Please."

"What, or who, you do in your spare time is none of my business."

Philipp’s words are like blunt axes. Continually leaving bruises but never breaking through the skin. Bastian flinches when he hears them and it takes everything within Philipp not to apologise.

He’s not a saint either, he knows it. But still. He feels disillusioned by his best friend, wonders how he didn’t see this coming. The signs were there. He just wasn’t paying attention.

"I don’t want to keep things from you."

"But you did."

"Because I didn’t know how this would end, and I didn’t want to tell you if this ended up as a bit of fun."

"A bit of fun? Christ, Bastian, can you hear how terrible that sounds? Xabi’s literally putting his marriage on the line for you and you’re here thinking this is a bit of fun," Philipp replies, looking him dead in the eye, "You’re going to ruin him like you ruined Lukas."

"That’s not fair," Bastian replies, voice rough and fists clenching beside him.

"You think that’s unfair? Lukas is in London thinking you two might get back together because you’re keeping him on string and you’re fucking Xabi fucking Alonso in Gelsenkirchen. Tell me how that’s fucking fair, Bastian."

Bastian’s mouth goes dry.

"You can’t, can you?"

"It’s different with Xabi."

"I’m sure it feels like it is, but it really isn’t."

"What should I do," Bastian asks sounding more like a child instead of the 29 year old he is.

Philipp takes a deep breath then exhales.

"Be all in or not at all."

"I am."

"What?"

"All in."

"Yeah, but with who?"

 

—

 

Bastian stays in the corridor minutes after Philipp disappears before he sneaks out of the hotel and goes for a walk. The guilt gnaws at him hour by hour and he knows it’ll silently devour him if he doesn’t do anything about it. So he does. 

 

-

 

Xabi tosses and turns during the night, absentmindedly reaching out for Bastian. He wakes up in an empty room and checks for his phone for an any explanation but finds nothing. There’s nothing there and there’s nobody in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so so sorry that I took forever to upload the next chapter. I wasn't inspired and I didn't want to write for the sake of writing. Thank you all for being patient anyway! :) 
> 
> * This is the famous 'Xabier' song by Russian Red.   
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jNfxmjFmzl4

**Author's Note:**

> Again, please excuse any spelling/grammatical errors. I wrote this on the train and I haven't had time to sit down and actually proofread it.


End file.
